


lovedrunk.

by goodandsafe



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, bartender!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 22:23:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11322921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodandsafe/pseuds/goodandsafe
Summary: carmilla karnstein, local college bartender, takes care of a sad, cute laura hollis.





	lovedrunk.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this post s1 of carmilla and just found it on my laptop last week so i decided to share! "/" denotes passage of time.

You first saw her a few months ago, the first night you bartended at Pacey’s. As it’s Styria’s go-to bar for most twentysomethings, you see a lot of faces, but you always pick out Laura Hollis’. She’s gorgeous – there’s no doubt about that – but, from what you’ve gathered from your interactions with her, she’s also energetic and driven and _adorable_.

Not that you, Carmilla Karnstein, would even enjoy anything that could be described as "adorable."

Except, well, there’s just something about Laura Hollis. It might have something to do with the fact that she reminds you of Bruiser Woods: a tiny, feisty Chihuahua who thinks she’s a direwolf. It gives her a certain… charm, you think.

She comes into Pacey’s nearly every weekend and she’s usually with her band of misfit gingers, one of whom – the amazon – may or may not be her girlfriend. (Which, ew.) Only, the past few weeks, she’s been here more often and alone, sitting miserably at the end of the bar, drinking and writing. Without Xena and the other two – LaFontaine and Perry? – around, she’s not as animated, and it feels wrong.

It feels so wrong that you check on her more often and make small talk – both things that you typically actively avoid, both on the job and off. You even make horrible jokes to try and make her laugh.

You succeed a few times and count it as a victory when the corners of her eyes crinkle.

But tonight is different. It’s the one Friday night a month you have off, but you ended up at Pacey’s anyway. You’re leaning up against the building, one leg bent up against the wall, watching the first snowfall of the season drift peacefully to the ground. You feel kind of ridiculous for being here on your night off but, when it comes down to it, you didn’t really have anything else to do tonight anyway.

You push off the wall, spin, and enter Pacey’s. You’re shrugging off your red flannel – it’s hot as fuck in here – when you spot her. It’s strange, the way your eyes zero in on her every time you enter the bar, as if you can sense her presence. Laura’s in the corner of the bar, spinning her phone on the table in between taking huge gulps of her margarita through a straw. It’s not just any margarita, though; it’s the _birthday_ margarita, and your concern heightens.

You know it’s not her birthday, because you remember three months ago when she and her friends came in and she got so drunk that she kept referring to it as her “Goblet of Fire” and asking you in a melodramatic tone, “Carmilla. Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?” over and over and over. It was very book-Dumbledore of her, but you wouldn’t admit that you understood every Harry Potter reference she made.

Anyway, the fact that Laura is alone drinking a 65 ounce birthday margarita is cause for concern, so you march to the bar and yell, “Kirsch!”

He hears the steel in your voice and immediately moves over to where you’re standing.

“Why on _earth_ would give Hollis a birthday marg? You know it’s not her birthday, because on her _actual_ birthday, you followed her around like a puppy.”

“I know! She just seemed like she needed it and a Zeta never lets a hottie down.”

“You’re an imbecile,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Get me a glass of water.”

While you wait, you lean backwards against the bar and, now that you’re closer to her, you can see tear tracks on Laura’s face, even in the dim light of the bar.

When Kirsch returns with two glasses of water – “She looks like she needs it” – you promptly snatch them from his grip and head to Laura’s table.

She doesn’t notice you until you say, “Hey, cutie. Got room for one more?”

Laura stops spinning her phone and looks up at you, a mixture of confusion, surprise, and embarrassment etched on her face, and stutters, “Yeah – uh – yeah.”

You sit in the chair opposite her and she looks down sheepishly and tucks her phone away.

You slide one of the water glasses toward her and say, “Drink some of that.”

Laura’s eyes finally meet yours and her brow is furrowed.

You roll your eyes a little and say, “I remember what your birthday was like, and even then you had help from your merry band of freaks.” You tap the side of the glass. “Drink.”

Laura drinks from the glass, but her eyes well up with tears and she has to set it down when she begins to full-out sob.

Your eyes widen. This is _so_ not your forte. Still, you can’t just sit here and watch her cry, so you round the table and sit next to her.

“Hey. Hey, Laura,” you say.

You reach out to put a hand on her arm or something – that’s what people do, right? – when she turns and buries her face into your shoulder.

“Oh,” you say, going rigid with surprise.

After a moment, you recover and put your arm around her shoulders, pulling her into you. Laura cries harder and you comb your fingers through her hair. After a few minutes, her cries subside and she peels herself from your body. Laura’s eyes are red and puffy, and your chest tightens.

“Where _is_ that merry band of freaks? I haven’t seen them lately…”

Laura sniffles. “LaF and Perry are out of town and I broke up with Danny ages ago. I – I thought I wanted to be alone today.”

You nod slowly and say, “So are you gonna tell me what’s wrong or just keep getting your eye makeup on my shirt?”

Your playful smirk tells her you’re kidding and she lets out a small, watery laugh.

She wipes at her eyes and says, “Today’s my mom’s birthday. Or, it would be if she wasn’t –“

Laura’s face begins to crumple again and you reach up to wipe away smudged eyeliner and fresh tears before you can stop yourself.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can say.

Laura shakes her head, like she knows there’s nothing you can do or say to fix this, and you have to resist the urge to pull her into a hug.

She hiccups hard and says, “Wanna go home.” Laura reaches for her purse, which is hanging from the bag of her chair, but you take it before she can.

“Uh uh, nope. No way am I letting you drive yourself, buttercup. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Laura doesn’t argue, but when she stand up, her eyes go wide and she clutches her stomach.

/

Laura bolts to the bathroom and you follow her into a stall, pulling her hair back into a ponytail for her. With one hand, you rub her back and with the other, you carefully take her phone from her back pocket.

You find LaFontaine’s name in her contacts quickly and hit the call button.

It rings thrice before a tentative voice says, “Hey, Hollis. What’s up?”

“It’s actually Carmilla, from Pacey’s. Laura –“

“Is Laura okay? Dammit, I _knew_ we should have come home tonight.”

In the background, you hear a high-pitched voice say, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Carmilla called me from her phone. You know _Carmilla_ Carmilla,” you hear LaF tell Perry.

_What the_ fuck _does that mean?_ you wonder.

“Well what happened?!”

You finally cut in. “If you two would stop babbling like idiots for a second, I could tell you.” After a few beats of silence, you continue, venom drained from your voice. “Thank you. Laura’s wasted. She was here drinking alone for I don’t know how long, but I found her taking down a Goblet of Fire. She’ll be fine, but I need to get her home. Problem is, I don’t know where home is, so –“

Laura makes a loud retching noise and it startles you from your conversation. You grimace and say, “Get it all out, okay? I promise you’ll feel better.”

She moans a little and you rub circles into her back. You return your attention to LaFontaine and say, “I don’t think she’s gonna be much help in the directions department, so if you could give me her address, that’d be peachy.”

“Of course, yeah. It’s 68 Pinehearst. Apartment 307.”

“Okay, just a few miles away then. Got it.”

You’re about to hang up when LaF says, “Thank you. For taking care of her. If me and Per weren’t out of town we’d be there.”

“Don’t go making a big deal out of it.”

“Right,” they say with a laugh, “Because you, heart of stone Carmilla, doting on one Laura Hollis isn’t a big deal. I see right through you, Karnstein.” You stutter and try to make an excuse, but they just say, “Text me when you get her home, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The line goes dead and you stuff the phone into Laura’s purse. You turn to the small girl beside you and see her eyelids beginning to droop.

“Hey, come on.” You lift her from under her armpits so she can stand and she spins unsteadily to face you.

“Whoa,” Laura says, and her eyes fall to your lips. “You’re pretty.”

Even drunk-drowsy-just-finished-puking Laura Hollis is attractive, but you push those thoughts from your mind and focus.

“Ready to go?”

The two of you leave the bathroom and, halfway to the front door of Pacey’s, Laura grabs your hand, threading your fingers together. Her small hand is warm in yours and you have to convince yourself it’s just so she can keep her balance.

When you’re both safely inside your car, you turn the car on and say, “Buckle up, creampuff.”

/

You find her building pretty easily and when you help her out of the car, Laura’s voice wilts when she says, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

You feel your lips involuntarily form a pout at the tone of her voice, at the fact that she wouldn’t have expected you to be anything other than cold.

“You know why, cutie,” you blurt.

She looks at you, expecting more, when you realize that LaFontaine was right; it _is_ a big deal that you’re here helping Laura. And it’s not like this is some grand heroic gesture, but it’s a big deal because you actually care. It’s a big deal because you _want_ to be here with sniffling, sad Laura Hollis and you’d do anything in your power to make her smile again.

But you can’t say all that. No, because Laura is drunk, might not even _remember_ this in the morning, and you don’t confess you have feelings for someone when they’re crying about their dead mom. You just don’t.

So you instead you say, “I told Carrot Top #1 I’d look out for you.”

It’s lame and a cop out and Laura knows it, even in her drunken state. Something in her eyes sharpens that tells you she’s not buying it, but she doesn’t question you any further.

You begin to walk, side by side, toward the building and Laura’s footsteps are all over the place. You’re about to voice your concern that she’s going to fall, when she does just that. She trips and you catch her by the hips to steady her.

“Smooth, sundance.”

She tries to glare at you, but it just brings a smile to your face. Her scowl deepens, but a hint of a smile is playing at the corners of her mouth.

You let go of her for a moment, but then loop your right arm around her waist and guide her into the building.

“This building better have a fucking elevator,” you grumble.

Thankfully, it does, and you have to suppress a laugh when Laura jabs at and missed the ‘3’ button at least five times before hitting it and turning to you with a triumphant smile.

“Ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head at her.

“You like it, though,” Laura says, and her eyes flit down to your lips again.

“Fine. Maybe. But don’t push your luck, sweetheart.”

Laura looks pleased with herself as the elevator doors open to her floor. When the two of you reach her door, she fumbles in her purse for her keys until you still her wrist and take the bag gently from her.

“Let me.”

You can feel her eyes boring into the side of your face as you fish out her key and open the door, but you won’t look at her. You feel exposed, like she can read your every moment, and you _really_ didn’t sign up for this tonight.

You push the door open and wait for her to enter but, instead, she grabs your forearm.

When you look at her, she says, “You’re soft” with wonderment in her eyes. You squirm a little under her gaze, but she holds onto you still. “You always act like you’re too cool to care, but you do. You’re different with me.”

You shake your head. “You’re drunk,” you say weakly.

“I might definitely be very drunk, but you are soft, Carmilla.”

“Whatever,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Our secret,” she whispers.

Laura finally lets you pull her into the apartment and she makes a beeline for the couch. She lays down, head on a bright yellow pillow, and breathes out in comfort. This little moment of clarity of hers really freaked you out, but she’s apparently back to being tired.

“C’n I have more water?” she asks.

You navigate your way to the kitchen in the dark fairly successfully; you only bump into one doorway. When you return to the living room, Laura is nearly asleep, but perks up a bit when she sees you, as if she forgot you were here. She sits up halfway and takes the water from you with a small, “thank you.”

As Laura drinks, you shoot off a text to LaF from Laura’s phone:

> Home safe. Putting her to bed. –C

Before putting Laura’s phone down, you check to see if she’s looking at you. She’s not – she’s too focused on the water she just splashed in her face – so you put your number in her phone. You know, just in case.

“So now that you’re settled and everything,” you point your thumb over your shoulder, “I’m gonna –“

“Stay,” Laura says, cutting you off. You shift awkwardly on your feet. “I just – I don’t wanna be alone. Please, Carm?”

The nickname makes your heart swell unexpectedly and it hits you that you’ll never be able to say ‘no’ to Laura Hollis.

“Sure, okay.”

She looks up at you like you’re the best thing she’s ever seen, and your cheeks heat up. Laura pats the seat beside her on the couch and you sit.

“Do you want me to get you pjs or anything?”

“Mm-mm,” she hums, shaking her head.

You lean down to pull off your shoes and then do the same for Laura as she gulps down more water. After she, with only a small struggle, kicks her socks off, she nudges your shoulder, urging you to lay down.

As soon as you do, she settles into your side and throws her arm over your waist. Laura nuzzles into your neck and, maybe you’re imagining it, but you think she places a small kiss there. You pull a blanket down from the back of the couch and spread it over the both of you as best you can and say, “Sleep, Laura.”

“Thank you,” she says around a yawn and within minutes her breathing evens out.

You can feel her little puffs of breath against your neck and, you have to admit, you love the way body feels snuggled up to yours. You drop a kiss on the top of her head and join her in sleep.

/

You don’t wake up until the morning sun is peeking through the curtains of Laura’s living room. Laura is still sound asleep on top of you and you can’t bring yourself to move and run the chance of waking her. Her makeup is still smudged underneath her eyes and you want to wipe it away but, your luck, she’ll wake up and you’ll just be holding her face, like a creep.

So you just lay there, thinking about last night and about the way LaFontaine sounded on the phone, like they know something you don’t. You could almost see their sly smile when you tried to deny that you were actually being of use for once. It was kind of refreshing, actually, to let your snarky guard down because that’s how Laura _always_ is with you. If you’re honest, you’re sure she’s like that with everyone, but she’s always treated you with this… reverence, this patience, that still surprises you. Even just in small pockets of time at Pacey’s, she manages to weasel past your defenses.

You feel her start to shift above you and you close your eyes, feigning sleep. Laura’s legs stretch out and she lets out a content, sleepy sigh. Her arm tightens around your waist before she goes completely still. She sits up suddenly, but you can still feel her hovering over you.

_Fuck_ , you think. _She_ totally _forgot about last night and now I’m just the weird bartender who slept on her couch and –_

Laura’s hand brushes your hair out of your face and behind your ear, and you don’t think anyone has ever touched you with such care. She carefully climbs over you and fixes the blanket on top of you before you hear her footsteps move away from you. She’s moving toward the hallway opposite the kitchen and you hear drawers being pulled out, clothes falling to the floor; all the while, you’re trying not to picture what that looks like.

She breezes back through the living room and toward the kitchen. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding when she’s out of earshot and sit up. You twist and stretch, trying to purge your body of the soreness that sleeping on a small couch brings. You can hear humming from the kitchen and a small smile graces your lips.

You don’t know what to do here, though. Do you leave before it gets awkward? Do you go find her? Do you wait for her to come back to the living room?

Before you can make a decision, you hear her say, “You’re awake!”

You turn around and Laura is standing in the doorway, smiling and twiddling her fingers together. Your breath catches as you take in her appearance.  She’s wearing a loose grey t-shirt now with flannel sweatpants and her face is cleared of any make-up.

“Morning, buttercup,” you say in your most sultry voice. Even from the couch, you can see the tips of her ears go red and you smile.

“Hey,” Laura says, a toothy grin on her face. “So, I’m making coffee and some breakfast. I could use some grease to soak up the hangover and everything.”

“Oh, yeah of course. I’ll just – um, head out then.”

“No!” Laura says, stepping toward you. She takes a breath to collect herself. “Do you want to stay for breakfast?”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you wave her off. “You don’t have to—“

“I want to. I’ve gotta thank you somehow for taking care of me last night.” Laura’s eyes are downcast and you know the sadness that saturated her last night is returning. “Just… have breakfast with me.”

“Alright. Thanks. Can I use your bathroom?”

She beams at you and points down the hallway. “Second door on the left.” When you move toward the bathroom, she calls after you, “I left an extra toothbrush out if you want it.”

“Thanks,” you call over your shoulder and you make your way down the hallway. After brushing your teeth, washing your face, and spritzing just a tiny bit of Laura’s body mist on yourself, you roll up the sleeves to your flannel and head for the kitchen.

With the morning light streaming into Laura’s apartment, you can properly appraise it. It’s quaint, but it fits her. The living room is bright and it seems to serve as both her tv room and office. By the window, which is lined with pink string lights, is a large, oak desk. Atop it is her computer, a lamp, and various notebooks. The bookshelf next to it is jam-packed with books and you can tell from the spines which ones she favors. You’re running your fingers over some of them when you hear Laura squeak and say, “Fuck!” in the kitchen.

“You okay, cupcake?” you say when you enter.

She looks over to you, a nervous smile on her face, and says, “Just a little bacon grease burn. Totally fine.”

“Need help with anything?”

“Absolutely not,” she says. “You’re my guest. Sit down and I’ll grab you a cup of coffee. How do you take it?”

“Hmm,” you hum. “I’ll just take it black today.”

She wrinkles her nose at you and says, “Whatever you say.”

Laura places her TARDIS mug on the table and you offer her a quiet thanks, looking up at her through your eyelashes. She cooks the rest of the meal and you sip from the mug in comfortable silence. She’s humming and singing along to music from her iPhone and you watch as she sways her hips to the beat.

In fact, you watch so intently that you don’t realize breakfast is ready, so when she turns around, your eyes frantically move away from her ass. She’s obviously caught you and you’re pretty sure that being staked would be less painful than the embarrassment you feel.

Laura clears her throat and you begrudgingly look at her, lips forming an apologetic smile. Her eyes are twinkling, but she doesn’t call you out. She just sets the big plate of bacon and eggs down on the table and then turns to get plates and silverware. You make a point to look anywhere but her.

She slides a plate in front of you and says, “Help yourself” before sitting down kitty-corner to you. It might only be breakfast, but it feels intimate. You actually don’t remember the last time you had breakfast with a girl or stayed over without having sex, but this is nice, and you know that Laura is the difference.

/

Breakfast is paired with small talk, but you can feel the events of last night hanging over both of you. She wants to talk about it and, if you’re honest, you do too; you’d never seen her so torn up about something.

You help Laura wash and clean the dishes, insisting that you needed to contribute somehow. After she stretches up to put the last plate away, she freezes, facing the wall.

You tug on the back of her shirt, coaxing her to look at you. When she does, she has traces of that miserable look you’ve seen her wearing for the past few weeks. You can’t take it anymore – seeing her so broken affects you in ways you never thought it would – so you pull her into you and wrap your arms around her. One hand lands on her lower back, supporting her, and then other strokes up and down her spine in an attempt to relax her.

Laura rests her head on your shoulder, snakes her arms around your waist, and mumbles, “I’m really sorry about last night.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” you tell her.

“It was embarrassing,” Laura insists. “I don’t usually get that sloppy, especially not alone.”

“Happens to the best of us. Seems like you had good reason to be so upset. It’s just too bad the ginger squad wasn’t there with you.”

“It’s okay. You were perfect.” Then she giggles a little. “And my friends _do_ have names.”

“I know, but nicknames are more fun.”

“You’re such a Ron Swanson.” Before you can question what the fuck that means, she says, “You called me by my name last night. For the first time ever.”

“Yeah, but who’s keeping track?”

Laura pulls back from you and searches your face. You can’t help but break into a smile under her gaze and she says, “You’re even prettier when you smile, you know.”

You breathe out a laugh and shake your head, “You’re unbelievable.” When she furrows her brow, you take the opportunity to change the subject. With her this close to you, you’re bound to say something embarrassing. “Not to be a Debbie Downer here, but... how long has it been since your mom passed?”

Laura raises her eyebrows. “Oh, um, almost 8 years. I know I should be getting over it or coming to terms with it by now, but – I don’t know – she was my best friend.”

Her voice holds steady but you can feel her trembling a little in your arms. You imagine seams all over her body struggling to stay together, and you wonder how many times she’s come undone.

“There’s no right time or way to stop grieving, Laura. Don’t be so hard on yourself, okay? And if you, you know, need someone to talk to… you know where to find me or whatever.”

Laura rubs her lips together to fend off a smile. “Noted, you big softie.”

You look at your feet. “Look, I oughta be going. I have to work tonight, so…”

“Oh,” Laura says, “Yeah, of course. I’ll walk you out.”

As you pull your boots back on in the living room, she keeps thanking you until you cut her off. “Seriously, cutie, it’s fine.”

She purses her lips and nods as you push yourself to your feet. Laura opens the door and you spin to stand in the doorway, facing her.

“I hope you’re feeling better.”

“Besides the hangover, I’ll be okay. I just _really_ –"

“Appreciate it. I know. You’re welcome,” you say and Laura’s face flushes. “Oh, and before we went to sleep last night, I put my number in your phone. You know, just in case you ever need a DD or something.”

Laura’s head tilts and her smile grows before she can stop it. She takes a step toward you, tugs on the bottom of your shirt, and says, “What about if I wanted to take you out for coffee? Or dinner?”

You do your best to maintain eye contact when you quietly say, “I think I might like that very much.”

Laura surges toward you and places a quick kiss on your cheekbone and you breathe in sharply. When she pulls back, her eyes are brimming with hope, with adoration, and you can’t help but reach out and drag your thumb over her bottom lip.

“See you soon, cutie,” you say and you walk backwards away from her down the hall, never breaking eye contact until you have to round the corner.

When you do, you can hear her squeal in delight before shutting the door and you’d laugh at her, but you’re feeling the same joy inflate your chest.

Heart-of-Stone Karnstein has it _bad_ for Laura Hollis.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up at good-and-safe on tumblr for any and all headcanons my dude


End file.
